Monday, July 9, 2012
Today
Today has consisted of
- buying chicken scratch
- giving Dash a bath
- packing all that will be needed and some of what might be needed in a remote village in the D.R.
- making two lasagnas
- searching for a post office, and finding one
- being anxious
- cleaning the chicken coop
- phone calls and Skype calls with loved ones
- making a paper chain of messages for the boys to use to count down the days until Mama comes home
- lots of hugs and kisses
- "I'll miss you, mama!" - Will
- "I don't want you to go!" - Max
- an excited heart
- Candy Land and puzzles
- the house being a mess (since I have been packing all day)
- Spiderman and Underwear Man running like mad men through the house (since I have been packing all day)
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Drinks on Hot Days
I can’t say that our eyes met, but I can’t deny that I saw him long before he reached our table and asked for some money to get a soda. I saw him and thought, “Please don’t stop and ask for money!” But then he arrived at our table, pushing his walker, carrying his bags, and wanted money for soda.
“Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me,” I replied feeling uncomfortable. It was the truth.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t buy a drink for this man,” said a soft voice inside.
“He’s already gone past me; I don’t want to chase him down to offer him a drink,” was my reply. It was true he had gone past, but he was only yet a few feet behind my chair, where I sat listening to a live band and sipping icy cold Italian mineral water that had cost $3.25. In that response I knew that I had said no to an opportunity, and more so, to my Savior. The weight of denying a drink to my Savior came crashing down on me, and I felt guilt.
“Forgive me, Lord!” I cried out as I drove home. “I love you. I really do! Please provide a drink for this man, even though I wasn’t willing to do so.” But the guilt kept coming back. It just wouldn’t let me go, or maybe I wouldn’t let go of it.
The next morning the boys and I were on our way to the grocery store when I saw another man walking down the sidewalk. It was hard not to see him because he was wearing something that can only be described as a white painter suit that also looked like an outfit you might see in an old movie of a British imperialist exploring the desert or jungle. He wore a hat with white cloth hanging down the back to shield his neck from the sun, a wide black belt and black boots. He was also carrying many bags. He was probably homeless.
An hour later we were on our way home, the car heavy with a week’s worth of groceries, when I saw this man again.
“I can’t just drive by him, and not offer him something to drink!” I thought. So I pulled the car around, tried to explain to Max and Will what was going on. I was not going to miss another opportunity to give someone a drink in Jesus’ name. When I reached the man, I rolled down my window and said, “Would you like some water, sir?”
“What?”
“Would you like some water?” I repeated as I showed him a 2 liter bottle of water.
“Naw,” he answered showing me a cooler he was carrying with him.
“Ok,” I said a little confused and drove away. I hadn’t reached the end of the block when the tears started rolling down my face.
“Child, there is nothing you can do to make this wrong right. I already took care of that.”
“But I don’t deserve it.”
“Yes, but I love you. Take hold of the forgiveness and grace you asked for. It’s here waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, overwhelmed by this expensive grace, and the guilt was suddenly
“Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me,” I replied feeling uncomfortable. It was the truth.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t buy a drink for this man,” said a soft voice inside.
“He’s already gone past me; I don’t want to chase him down to offer him a drink,” was my reply. It was true he had gone past, but he was only yet a few feet behind my chair, where I sat listening to a live band and sipping icy cold Italian mineral water that had cost $3.25. In that response I knew that I had said no to an opportunity, and more so, to my Savior. The weight of denying a drink to my Savior came crashing down on me, and I felt guilt.
“Forgive me, Lord!” I cried out as I drove home. “I love you. I really do! Please provide a drink for this man, even though I wasn’t willing to do so.” But the guilt kept coming back. It just wouldn’t let me go, or maybe I wouldn’t let go of it.
The next morning the boys and I were on our way to the grocery store when I saw another man walking down the sidewalk. It was hard not to see him because he was wearing something that can only be described as a white painter suit that also looked like an outfit you might see in an old movie of a British imperialist exploring the desert or jungle. He wore a hat with white cloth hanging down the back to shield his neck from the sun, a wide black belt and black boots. He was also carrying many bags. He was probably homeless.
An hour later we were on our way home, the car heavy with a week’s worth of groceries, when I saw this man again.
“I can’t just drive by him, and not offer him something to drink!” I thought. So I pulled the car around, tried to explain to Max and Will what was going on. I was not going to miss another opportunity to give someone a drink in Jesus’ name. When I reached the man, I rolled down my window and said, “Would you like some water, sir?”
“What?”
“Would you like some water?” I repeated as I showed him a 2 liter bottle of water.
“Naw,” he answered showing me a cooler he was carrying with him.
“Ok,” I said a little confused and drove away. I hadn’t reached the end of the block when the tears started rolling down my face.
“Child, there is nothing you can do to make this wrong right. I already took care of that.”
“But I don’t deserve it.”
“Yes, but I love you. Take hold of the forgiveness and grace you asked for. It’s here waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, overwhelmed by this expensive grace, and the guilt was suddenly
gone.
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